


Between The Lines

by Aednat_the_Fourteenth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angsty Loki, Hurt!Loki, Hurt/Comfort, Loki (Marvel)-centric, Missing Scenes, Rating May Change, Snippets, h/c, other characters will show up soon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-06-02
Packaged: 2019-05-17 06:15:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14826909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aednat_the_Fourteenth/pseuds/Aednat_the_Fourteenth
Summary: A series of missing scenes and snippets, most of them digging into Loki’s complex and troubled mind, set at different points during the Thor and Avengers movies. Spoiler warnings inside.





	Between The Lines

**Author's Note:**

> Set just after Thor 1.

Loki was floating.  
Wait. That was not the word. You had to float _on_ something.  
Did you?  
Loki was _falling_ , but that didn’t seem absolutely right either, because this was nothing like any fall he had experienced. The most memorable had been his drop from a lesser branch of Yggdrasil itself that he was so proud it lied in his power to navigate. One of those that led to unexplored realms of mere magic. He had tried to escape Thor and his dim-witted friends or, more precisely, their self-assigned mission to retrieve whatever artefact some huckster had convinced them that it existed in the cold rivers of Niflheim. He had slipped and failed to regain his balance, had barely the time to cast a clumsy anchoring spell, and woken up on Thor repeatedly slapping his face and shouting his name. The worry in the oaf’s eyes had done nothing to slake the burn of the constant teasing that ensued.  
He would like to say he was still an infant then, that didn't know better, but that would be far from the truth. He was aware, now, that he had never needed the excuse of youth to act childishly. As clever, literate and reasonable as he appeared, he had, as much as his brother, always tended to behave like a spoiled brat.  
He was merely skilled at rationalizing his conduct.  
Like why he’d let go.  
That had been rational.  
_Yes,_ it had.  
What was the alternative? Facing Asgardian justice? Centuries of imprisonment at the very best? And been known as a revealed monster who had lived up to all the consequent expectations. Better spare everyone the humiliation.  
Besides, his father had made it clear: there was nothing _he_ could have done for Asgard.  
He never wanted to die, didn't he? He’d always been good at self-preservation. Not the kind to run away from danger, but with no interest in facing it.  
He never wanted to die, let alone suffer, and this, **_this_** , as painless as it felt, was awful.  
Unlike other - unlike **_the_** \- Asgardians, he was rather fond of solitude, but this was nothingness.  
He had expected to come across something. The occasional item or, possibly, being, lost and drifting, but there was nothing.  
There was nothing, there was nothing, there was **_nothing_** but every beat and shake of his body amplified a billion times because there was nothing to divert his attention from them; nothing but his breathtaking nausea from not knowing up and down, nothing but his feelings and, who was he kidding? the reason he’d let go was to make them stop, and now he was overwhelmed because there was nothing. ese. to. perceive.  
He was rambling.  
It was easier than thinking.  
And an unaccustomed experience, because thinking was, ordinarily, what Loki did the best. Along with magic, of course, but magic required a great deal of analysis. At the beginning, when you learned - and, as gifted as he’d been, and contrary to general opinion, he **_had_** to study - and then, to know how to use the right spell, and there were a lot of _when_ , and _where_ , and _why_ involved because everything was a matter of subtly impeding the balance of the universe, and you had to figure out all these _how_ and _when_ and _where_ and _why_ very quickly.

Norns! He was rambling again. But what else was to do? Was " _do"_ the proper word? Could you do something in nothingness? Except floating-falling, feeling, rambling and fighting the mind-boggling vertigo, and yet his mind had never been clear, had it?  
When did he go mad?  
And when was “when,” and was it even making any sense since there was no up, no down, no past and no future, only an agonizing _now_ , but was there, if there was no past and no future?  
When did he let go?  
The scepter, he meant. There had been a scepter. When did he let it go?  
There had also been a bridge, _the_ bridge, there had been yelling and pain, physical but not only, and someone was shouting and he knew this voice and was it his? Had he sounded so desperate? Wait. There had been other sounds. Other presences, some of them very dear to him. No, he didn’t hold anything dear. Not then, and certainly not now. Not even his life, apparently, yet the mere notion of living eluded him at the... moment. He only remembered… He remembered the feeling. The songs, the books, the banquets, the mead, the dances, another warm body against him in the… mornings, yes, that was the word, whatever it meant, the rides in Asgardian plains, the swimming in its streams, the hunting and fishing, the sparing with his… with Thor. Yes, that was his name, and the war, the magic, and Yggdrasil, and the realms... nine? Nine realms, whatever it meant. It was getting difficult to remember. He was floating.  
Falling.  
For a long…  
Forever.

He hit the… ground - yes, that was the word - hard.  
His whole being hurt. _Being_ hurt. How had he stood it before? Something filled his lungs and he screamed. Blinked. Furiously. But there were countless things to see they were just a messy blur. The taste of his own saliva made him sick, and the smells, so many smells, and the sounds, the sounds, for God’s sake! He wanted to cover his… ears but his limbs wouldn’t obey. They felt like… like… something heavy. Like he hadn’t used them since… how long? And where were his ears anyway? He had to get…  
“... up. Get up.”  
_I’m trying!_  
How long?  
A... matter kicked his... stomach, and it seemed that he was retching, except he had nothing to throw up. Then everything - so many things! was muddy again, his eyes were closed but the smells were sound, and the sounds tasted like agony, and an aroma brushed his face and stop touching me, please!  
“eeese!”  
“whaidsay?”  
_Stop making sounds! They burn!_  
“heyburrr…”  
His feet were yanked and he knew he screamed but the motion gave him a sense of directions. He was pulled somewhere, and that made his skin ache so much yet _somewhere_ was a concrete thing to cling to.  
He fought the blur with all his will and the effort shut the world until it passed and he couldn’t resist the alluring somethingness.  
The ground was callous and powdery, the smell like metal and wonder, the voice strong, deep and almost pleasant, with merely an inch of danger.  
But nothing _real_ could scare him now.  
“What are you?” it rang. Three words. Three perfectly intelligible words! His lips curled up and he felt like laughing.  
Wetness hit his face and he was choking, then breathing hard and blinking, then trying to get up - he knew it because of the fall that ensued.  
“What are you?” the voice repeated, in a tone that didn’t abide opposition. Except he wasn’t sure…  
“I… I’m…”  
New sounds occurred so he had to shut his ears again and found them, this time. The touch of his own fingers felt as if lead was squashing his skin, he painfully marveled. The voice was still asking, he heard it in his brain. He had no idea how long it took to find a suitable answer, and was pretty certain it was preceded by a fair amount of hesitancy and stammering, but when the long-learned introduction came, it was clear-cut:  
“I’m Loki. Of Asgard.”  
There was a pause. Then something grabbed his chin and gently hold his head up. It was good. He’d never, and that was an understatement, cared for physical contact, but after all this emptiness followed by _everything_ , the touch was comforting, and he leaned in it until he felt whole and confident enough to open his eyes.  
And couldn’t help the utter dread that washed over him.  
No.  
_Nothing real can scare me now._  
But it did.  
The face smiled.  
“Welcome, little Princey.”

**Author's Note:**

> For those following my Musketeers fics, I have no intention of abandoning them (I’m working on the next chapter of Hope And A Future, and the second act should be over this Summer). I just felt I had to try my English on something different.  
> I’ve always been both excited and frustrated by the way Loki was handled in the movies following the first Thor, and since it doesn’t look like we’ll get some explaining of his changes of character, I figured I might as well write it myself. Many talented authors did the same long before me, but hey, let’s see if I can come up with something interesting.  
> As it says in the description, this fic will be a collection of either missing scenes or snippets. I have an idea for a longer story, but I have to finish my ongoing one first.  
> I hope you enjoyed this first chapter. Please let me know what you think, I take any constructive criticism and I’m a sucker for comments :)  
> As always, a huge thank to Pika_La_Cynique for the proofreading.


End file.
